


Morning, Turnbull!

by Raine_Wynd



Category: due South
Genre: Episode Tag, Gen, post-cotw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-03-26
Updated: 2000-03-26
Packaged: 2017-10-07 16:38:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/67002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raine_Wynd/pseuds/Raine_Wynd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little late-night silliness inspired by exhaustion, Heather Nova, and a need to write <i>something</i> non-angsty. Call this...my explanation for why Turnbull got hit by a bus in CoTW part 2. :-)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning, Turnbull!

**Author's Note:**

> Alliance's characters.... This is the result of listening to Heather Nova when I'm exhausted, so it's a bit twisted (IMO.)

The house was quiet in the hours just between midnight and dawn. Frannie lay on the couch, watching the images from the TV flicker in the otherwise dark living room. She was exhausted, but she couldn't sleep. It didn't seem real to her that just as she'd gained her brother back, she'd lost the  substitute one she'd come to care for just as much.

She chuckled roughly and shifted position so that she had one more pillow behind her back. "Quit being silly. You know he didn't have anything to keep him here," she chided herself.

Even knowing that, she couldn't help feeling bereft. Why was it that no one ever paid attention to her? she wondered for the umpteenth time. Why didn't anyone ever ask her for her opinion, care about her feelings?

Her eyes focused on the television, seeing the usual assortment of commercials for psychic hotlines, financial help, and legal representation that seemed to be the only thing worth advertising at that hour of the day.  Bored, she began flipping channels, and had to stop suddenly as she caught sight of something familiar. Flipping back a channel, she was stunned to discover an ad for Turnbull as a — Politician?

_Had all the world gone crazy?_ She rubbed her eyes and blinked. _No_, she decided, _I'm not seeing things._

_Those sharks in the media will eat him alive_, she thought worriedly. _I've got to help him. He was nice to me... once._

She glanced at the clock. _No, it's still too early_, she decided.

"Screw it, I'm awake, and he's a Mountie. He's bound to be up early."

An hour and a half  later, she was dressed; a half hour more, and she was at Turnbull's doorstep.

"Francesca! What are you doing here?" Turnbull yawned, not quite quick enough to hide it. "It's early."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she apologized, barreling in with her usual lack of grace. "I just saw your ad on TV and I wanted to convince you that you're too nice to go into politics."

"Oh?" Bewildered, he stared at her, shutting the door behind her in a clearly automatic gesture. "I thought you might want to vote for me since I am, as you say, nice."

"Vote? Who cares? It doesn't make a difference anyway," she retorted. "Politicians are all creeps. I don't think you're one. So you can't be a politician, because then it wouldn't make sense."

Turnbull blinked at her. "I'm afraid I don't understand," he began.

"It's okay," she said, patting his cheek. "I'll explain...."

An hour later, dazed by Frannie's explanation, Turnbull walked out of his house, and was hit by a bus.


End file.
